Mercy
by kelseasc413
Summary: Years after her own Hunger Games, a winner realizes the odds will never be in her daughter's favor.  Oneshot.


_May the odds be ever in your favor._ The blessing of being a winner all too quickly morphed into the winner's curse. I was grateful to be alive, but only at first. I had been spared, but only to the fate of being forced to face the families of children I'd killed. I lived, but in constant fear of the nightmares that haunted me every night without fail.

I would never wish that fate on anyone.

Years had passed since my empty triumph. It was almost time for the reaping for this year's Hunger Games. As a mentor, I was forced to be involved every year, trying to scrape together a strategy to keep my assigned child alive. It was torturous. Every year, without fail, I came home empty-handed. I had to face accusing looks from families. _How could you let him die? She would have had a fighting chance if it wasn't for you! _The blame hit me squarely whether it was completely deserved or not. Despite everything I had been through in the past years, I knew these Games would be the worst for me.

"Mom?"

My thoughts were interrupted by the voice of my daughter. She'd just turned twelve this year. I painted a gentle smile on my face, hoping upon hope it would come across as genuine.

"I'll be there in a moment, sweetheart. I'm just finishing up our chocolate," I said softly. She nodded tiredly and padded back to her room, looking at once so much younger and so much older than she was. I shook my head, holding back stubborn tears, and went back to the task at hand. I hadn't made hot chocolate before bed since she was five or six years old. I had decided it was the perfect way to calm her down before bed.

I looked at the almost finished drinks with a kind of grim satisfaction. There was at least one advantage to being a winner. Rare or expensive foods were easy to come by. I doubted most anyone else in the district had ever possessed chocolate, whipped cream, and mint all at once. It was an empty prize, but it was better than absolutely nothing. I added a final ingredient, an herb I had never included before and never would again. My mind seemed to be in two places at once in that moment. Half of me was in the kitchen grinding transparent leaves into two cups; the other half was back in the arena, doing the same to the clumsily guarded stockpile of food near the Cornucopia.

I placed the two cups on a tray and carefully carried it to my daughter's bedroom. She was already curled into a tight ball on her bed, staring at the wall blankly.

"I don't want to go," she whispered. I set the tray on her nightstand and sat next to her on the mattress. I stroked a few light strands of hair back from her forehead soothingly.

"You only have one entry. You don't have anything to worry about." My words were soft and comforting, but were utter lies. Anyone with half a brain could see the discrepancy between the reaping of winner's children and the reaping of the general public. It seemed the Capital had a flair for the dramatic. I had seen it happen over the years, particularly in the poorer districts. Not only were the children of winners reaped, but their winning parent was frequently chosen as their mentor.

That wasn't my concern. I would go through absolutely anything for her. In the grand scheme of things, I frankly did not matter. I would stop at nothing to keep her safe. She would not be forced to suffer as my competitors had. She would not be doomed to die as my pupils over the past years had. She would not be fated to survive without living as I had.

I gathered her slight form in my arms and kissed her forehead. "I'll keep you safe," I vowed. She flashed me a trusting smile before burrowing deeper into my embrace.

"I know."

After a few moments like that, she moved to sit next to me and reached for one of the cups of chocolate. My resolve almost broke. I wanted so badly to slap the cup away and take my chances. Was my plan really any better? After all, there was no guarantee she would be reaped tomorrow. I had done nothing in particular to anger the Capital. I'd always played by the rules. I'd always stayed well under the radar.

But I was rationalizing. I knew better. Turning back now was not only foolish and delusional, but selfish. I firmly and cruelly flooded my mind with what I'd gone through.

Filing through a camp of motionless Career tributes. Stealing a wicked knife from one and making absolutely sure I had done away with every last one. Using that same knife on children years younger than I. Watching the light fade from their surprised baby eyes and knowing I would do it again. Wanting to live, but suspecting nothing of the future.

Having to watch every solitary moment of my victory. Pretending to be pleased, but dying inside.

My Victory Tour. Being paraded through districts full of people who loathed me. Keeping my face a frozen mask as glares from the families and friends of the dead pierced me. Knowing I probably deserved everything.

A brief flowering happiness with _him_. Not having to fake life for once. Going too fast. Too fast to stop. Never expecting it was too good to last. Tolerating mentorship solely for the return.

The abrupt halt of life. Realizing whatever happened, I was on my own. Almost worse than on my own. Doubting myself once again. Gaining a new center to my universe.

Trying to comfort desperate children. Failing to protect them. Watching their deaths on high quality screens. Caging insanity for only one reason. _Her._

Finally realizing the inevitable. In this world, there was no way to keep her safe. With the Capital's plans, she was merely another lamb to be lead to the sacrificial slaughter.

I restrained myself. I watched her drink deeply from the cup. As she finished, a sleepy smile came to her face. It broke my heart. I moved to get up, but her hand tugged at my sleeve.

"Stay with me? Please?"

I paused by the doorway, glad my overflowing eyes were turned away from her. "Of course," I answered quietly. I turned off the light, shut the door, wiped my damp face, and lay down beside her, gathering her to my chest.

"I love you, Mom," she said quietly.

"Love you too, sweetheart," I whispered. I waited, listening to her breath relax, slowing down ever further. I waited until, finally, it stopped completely. I rose from the little bed with a choked cry. I tucked her in for the last time, retrieving her worn stuffed bear from her closet and tucking it in still arms. I kissed her forehead and gently wiped our mingled tears from her round face.

My hands closed around my own cup. Warm steam no longer rose from the surface. It was ice cold. I drank the liquid slowly, relishing the taste, and the slight texture the herb gave it. I drained the cup and set it gently next to its partner. I knelt next to the bed. I leaned my head on the mattress, next to the apparently sleeping face of my child. I could already feel my lids becoming heavy. It was a quick, but gentle drug. I wasn't afraid.

"Good night, darling," I whispered soundlessly. My eyes slid closed and I knew no more.

_A/N: I don't know what possessed me to write this. Just a really depressing idea that came to me all of a sudden…well, at least it's got me writing again, even if it is a little rough around the edges. Review, please?_


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